Good Form
by youLOVEamelia
Summary: A rewrite of a story a wrote a while ago.  The story of Captain James Hook, and his fight to find the difference between good form and bad form.  Will he win the battle inside himself?


**Good Form**

There is no place in Neverland for adults besides a pirate ship. What I would have given to live amongst the fairies. Alas I could not, for only children resided with them; children who have become bitter against an older generation of people. They look at us as villains. But what they don't realize is how alike they are to us. In the end, nobody wants to grow up. It just takes some of us longer to realize it. By the time I noticed it…I was already too late. I was already grown up.

The second star to the right shone no light on me. It was obvious that when I arrived my fate would already be settled. There would be no frolicking through the woods with fairies or dancing around the fire with the Indians. It quickly became clear that I would be considered the number one enemy in Neverland: an adult. Piracy was my only hope.

Before coming to Neverland, I was in a private school. And my entire life, I'd been taught to have 'good form'. But what was good form? And what was bad form? All the time I spent in Neverland, I tried figuring this out. And all the way up until my demise, I slowly learned. But this is only important to mention now. And on with the story…

Soon after arriving in Neverland, I started out as the bo'sun of Blackbeard. I found that the job didn't fit me as it fits Smee now. If I was going to be a pirate for the rest of my life, I definitely didn't want to be listening to someone else's order. There was something inside me that told me I was meant for something much bigger. I began to think of starting my own crew. Soon, my thoughts became a reality.

Eventually more and more adults joined me, adding to my crew. It wasn't long before the Jolly Roger was completely filled with pirate, ready to sail the seas. They were all bumbling idiots, and it was hard to really use them to any sort of advantage. Smee, of course, would be of some use, but not to any excruciating extent. In the end, I never quite knew what side Smee was really on. He was the only one to ever really question my decisions. Of course, I stopped that backtalk early enough. He would learn to fear me, just as the others had. I always wondered if that was the only reason he stayed.

Sailing the seas of the Neverland was one of my greatest joys. Nobody really understood that I had once been a child with dreams too. In fact, to be a pirate was something I had always wanted. I always remembered the stories my own nana told me in the nursery. Yet, I didn't have a name for myself quite yet. Many of the other pirates already had their names. We had Italian Cecco, who cut his name in letter of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at Goa, Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed, Cookson who was said to be Black Murphy's brother, though we never did prove this, and Noodler with his hands on backwards. But for now, I was simply addressed as "Captain" or "Captain James" etc.

Everything was going great. And then _he_ showed up and ruined everything: Peter Pan. And, as he was only but a boy, I was immediately a villain to him. I was exactly what he had been trying to escape by coming to Neverland: adulthood. I suppose I can't blame him for seeing me as a threat to his eternal childhood. Had our places been switched, perhaps I'd have done all the same things he did.

But that didn't excuse him. Not one bit, no. It was I who suffered the consequences of his discrimination. It was I who lost my right hand to a mere lad of an unknown age. From then on I was to be called "Captain Hook" for the hook that replaced my missing right hant. After the loss of my right hand, that crocodile he fed it to never did leave me alone. And as my forget-me-not blue eyes cast out against the horizon, I waited for him to come back and devour the rest of me. _Tick tock tick tock…_Even in my sleep I could hear the clock inside the crocodile's stomach, ticking in my mind.

Despite my years of experience, I could not defeat Peter Pan, and neither could my crew. This was because the one ability he had that we did not know how to obtain: flight. He soared right through the air; just light the fairy that followed him all around all the time: Tinkerbell.

Pan continually surprised me. How he managed to keep his hideaway a secret from me, I just couldn't fathom. Lost boys kept on arriving, forming a small but formidable army against my pirates. But what surprised me the most was the appearance of the first Lost Girl: Wendy. Perhaps it was the arrival of her and her two dimwitted brothers that lead me to my demise. It marked the beginning of the end.

Wendy was to be mother to the lost boys, read them stories, administer medicine and nurture and care for them. But to Peter, she was even more than that. He had obtained the two simple things that I didn't have. They were two things that meant we were no longer equals. The first was a mother. I was grim when I told Smee that Pan had obtained a mother for him and the lost boys. The man surprised me by suggesting we kidnap her and make her our own mother. I thought it a startlingly perfect idea.

The second, he had even though he didn't know of it: Love. I shuddered at the word. How could Peter, someone who didn't understand much of the world, have love, while I withered away, old…alone…and ugly? Poor Wendy wanted to love him so much, yet all he could think of was playing make-believe and having adventures. He didn't understand what love was, much less could he feel it. So as poor Wendy pined for him, he only saw her as his lovely, devoted mother.

It was when Wendy wanted to leave that we gathered her and the lost boys. That day started out quite wonderfully. We defeated the Indians just before the capture of Wendy. Everything was looking up. While the boys were handled by my crew rather roughly, as soon as Wendy emerged from their underground hideout, I offered her my arm politely. She, being a little girl, didn't think to fight against my kindness.

It was because of one particular lost boy that I could make any attempt at Peter's life at all. Slightly, I think his name was. My men couldn't tie him, for he was swollen around the middle. He revealed to me that instead of making himself smaller, he made his tree bigger. This meant I could find where Peter was. The children were shoved into the little house made for Wendy and my crew carried it away on their shoulders.

Going through Slightly's tree, I was quick to find Peter sleeping away on his bed. There was so much I could do. It was hard to decide. But then my eyes fell on the medicine Wendy had left for him. He wouldn't dare disappoint her so much as to not drink is medicine. From my coat pocket, I pulled out a single vial of poison, the strongest poison ever born to the world. It was a mixture of malice, jealousy and disappointment. With five drops into the medicine, I knew my job was now complete.

Even as I walked up and down the deck of the Jolly Roger, I wasn't satisfied. There was some possibility that it was because I felt quite lonely. Had I been Peter Pan, I would have been overjoyed to have the lost boys. Now as I looked upon them, tied to the mast of my ship, I couldn't help but feel dejected. I was alone in Neverland, a world that was supposed to be full of magic and happiness. Yet all of my experiences there were full of hatred and darkness.

I watched as the children clung to Smee. They loved him. One even tried on his spectacles! All I could think was how not one little child loved me. This confused me, because it was something that never bothered me before. My entire life was bent on destroying Peter, a child himself. Why should I care what he and the other children thought of me? It didn't make any sense. But there it was, clawing at my insides.

I ordered that Wendy should have to watch her children walk the plank. And her only wish was that they died as English gentlemen. I could hardly hold back my laughter. It was so naïve, yet so daring at the same time. My crew was thoroughly impressed with her, and wished dearly that she could be their mother.

Just as I was about to make the first boy walk, I heard it. _It. _That terrible sound that I dreaded…_tick tock…tick tock…_The crocodile made this vile noise, and my limbs went weak. The boys rushed to the side of the ship to take a look at the creature, and to my surprise, they did not shout in fear.

"One!" came the call from behind me. I had no idea what the lost boy was counting until later. Then, with a screech from my cabin, the lost boy shouted, "Two!" Italian Cecco went to check what happened in the cabin and relayed to us that Bill Jukes had been stabbed. This was when I realized he was counting how many of my pirates were being killed. He continued when Italian Cecco went back in and never came out, and then again when I, myself, killed Starkey.

Still we could not figure out just what was causing these deaths. One of the pirates decided it was because we had a woman on board: the fair Wendy. And just as she was about to be flung overboard, who should show up but our hero? That is correct. Peter Pan, back from the dead…And it was him, not the crocodile, who had been ticking. All of that fear inside of me…all because of one boy…

And thus our fighting began. Peter was very skilled when it came to swordsmanship, and I had to admit that he was far nimbler than I was. Many times I wished that I could end it with a thrust of my hook or sword. But time and time again he dodged or parried. And when I dropped my sword on the deck, the lad stopped his swinging to let me pick it up. This, I realized, was good form.

I found myself backed up against the railing of my ship. When I looked over the edge, I saw the crocodile waiting for me. But where was the ticking? Finally, the clock in his belly had died. And not a moment too soon…This was it. I could feel my impending death, grasping for me. Peter flew towards me. I knew this was going to happen. I motioned, giving Peter permission to use his foot instead of his dagger. Instead of being stabbed by the sword, Peter gave a swift kick, just enough to toss me overboard.

And I realized that all I wanted was to see Peter in bad form. That was my reason for asking him to use his foot. It was undignified…and I loved it, even as I made my descent into the crocodile's mouth.

After taking over my ship, Peter brought Wendy and her brothers back home as well as the rest of the lost boys. Back to the open window…And he promised never to forget her. They agreed to meeting each spring for spring cleaning, but some years he would forget. Eventually he'd come back and Wendy would be all grown up and her child, Jane, would go with him. And when Jane grew up, her daughter Margaret would be next in line.

They would tell him stories about his adventures and his great battle against me. Of course, he would listen avidly as though he'd never heard of me. He always forgets those he kills. They would describe me as a tall man, eyes as blue as forget-me-nots that would turn a terrible shade of red at the sight of battle, and a man filled with jealousy and hate. I was a man with bad form. Bad form. So that's what it is.


End file.
